


no turning water into wine

by herax



Series: Inquisitor AU [2]
Category: Star Wars: Jedi: Fallen Order (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, Inappropriate Use of the Force, Inquisitor AU, Light Dom/sub, Light Masochism, Semi-Public Sex, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-17
Updated: 2020-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:14:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23188324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/herax/pseuds/herax
Summary: While on a mission together for the Inquisition, Cal and Trilla investigate a Jedi shrine and indulge in some light desecration.
Relationships: Cal Kestis/Trilla Suduri | Second Sister
Series: Inquisitor AU [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1976353
Comments: 6
Kudos: 94





	no turning water into wine

**Author's Note:**

> Another Cal/Trilla inquisitor AU because I’m weak. Written for the h/c prompt of ‘desecration’ but took a hard detour into smut instead.

Blood runs down Cal’s arm as he reaches for a stim. 

His wounds are minor, a few bruises and cuts from where the elomin put up a weak attempt at resistance, but he can still feel the adrenaline surging through his system as he looks down at the smoking village. 

Most of the inhabitants fled before they had even landed, leaving only the foolish and reckless behind to be cut down, and Cal glances over the corpses of his less competent stormtroopers as he waits for Trilla to finish issuing her orders to the remaining troopers below.

The fight was over too fast, his itch for blood and battle barely sated, and he unclips the mask covering the lower half of his face as he whistles for Trilla to hurry up.

Her head snaps up to face him. Even beneath her helmet, he can feel her annoyance but he gladly pushes his luck when he flashes her a grin. “Some time this year, maybe?”

He doesn’t miss the way her gloved hand clenches into a fist and he bites his lip when he feels the pressure of the force against his throat. It’s light, barely enough to make his breath catch, but even the warning of it makes his cock twitch in his pants.

He lowers his eyes as a token of submission but can’t keep the smile off his face when Trilla finishes up with the commander and sweeps up the stone stairs, her cape flowing behind her. The only injury Cal can see is a shallow cut on her thigh where an elomin’s blade sliced through the fabric of her uniform, but she doesn’t seem to notice it as she walks over to him and throws him back against the wall with a wave of her hand.

She keeps him pinned there for a moment, just long enough that Cal wonders if he’s pushed her too far already, but he smiles when she mutters, “Was it too much to ask that you behave yourself for one mission?”

She releases him but Cal can feel the rush of combat singing through him as he prods at her limits. “We won, didn’t we?”

Trilla moves towards him, crowding him back against the wall, and her voice is distorted beneath the helmet as she says, “I wouldn’t consider this a victory yet if I were you. Especially not when you just whistled at me like you were calling a dog.”

Cal gulps, bracing for the choking grip of the force against his throat again, but Trilla just closes a gloved hand around his jaw. Her voice is low, barely above a whisper, and Cal flushes in shame at the arousal that floods through him when she says, “I thought I’d made it clear which of the two of us is closer to a pet, Kestis. It certainly isn’t me.”

“I’m sorry,” Cal gasps, but from the way Trilla chuckles, they both know he doesn’t mean it.

“Remind me to find you a muzzle when we return to the ship.” 

The order is accompanied by a sharp pat to his cheek and Cal sags against the wall when she turns away. The pants of his uniform are thin enough that there’s no hiding the effect she’s having on him, but he tries to focus on their current mission rather than what now awaits him on their return as he nods. “Yes, Trilla.”

She hums in approval as she heads past him into the cave without a backward glance, and he falls eagerly into step behind her. 

It’s dark inside, the torches around the Jedi shrine long extinguished and the fading sunlight blocked out by the mountain around them. However, the conversion process came with improved night vision — a side effect of the yellow eyes, apparently, although the imperial doctor’s assessment didn’t exactly fill him with confidence — and he picks his way through the shadowed cave with ease.

Trilla pauses ahead of him, removing her helmet and setting it on a rock as she surveys the scene. The hair at the back of her neck is damp with sweat, and Cal aches to press his lips to her skin and taste it.

Trilla either doesn’t notice or is just ignoring him when she walks forward into the main chamber of the shrine and says, her words dripping with sarcasm, “More ruins and another worthless shrine. Wonderful.”

There are bones on the ground, scraps of hair and clothing still clinging to some of them, and Cal feels the past shift beneath his feet like sand as he approaches the altar. The place’s history is painted in layers, years of reverence and worship marred by sharp strokes of violence and hatred, and Cal knows it’s his imperial training which makes the latter now so much more familiar than the former.

He slips a glove off and lets the echoes skim against his palm like waves as he pieces it together. He doesn’t need to go as deep now, not with the grip of the dark side anchoring him in the present, and he voices his thoughts aloud as the kaleidoscope of fragments twists into a clearer image.

“This place was sacred to the Jedi. They would study here, some for years at a time.” He tilts his head, seeing bearded faces poring over fragile scrolls. “They were wise but reclusive. Steeped in their studies but ignorant of the rest of the world.”

“Old fools,” Trilla says dismissively, toeing at one of the bones on the ground. “I assume they were wiped out in the purge?”

Cal shakes his head. There’s a telltale ripple in the places where the purge happened, like a scar etched in the force, and while the shrine has seen a massacre, it wasn’t at the hands of clones.

“Not at first,” he says. “They had some kind of agreement with the elomin. A deal. The Jedi worked alongside the elomin. They were friends, almost. But they were betrayed.”

Trilla straightens up at that, looking at the bodies with renewed interest. “By the Jedi?”

“By the elomin,” Cal says. “They learned about the bounty on the Jedi, how much the Empire was offering. They talked about it — they even took a vote — and they decided to hand the Jedi over.”

Anger crackles off Trilla, invisible waves of it pulsing from her clenched fists, and Cal knows she’s thinking of Cere, of the doomed younglings, of the imperial troopers hauling her to Nur in shackles, as she sneers, “Cowards. They deserved a worse death than we gave them.”

Cal smiles. “The Jedi helped with that.” He closes his eyes, his ears filled with the clashing and shouting of combat. “They fought back. Killed a lot of the elomin too, but they were outnumbered. They died here, bleeding out on their scrolls.”

He lingers in the echo of it, letting the heat of victory wrap around him like an embrace. He can taste the blood in his throat, can hear the dying gasps of the Jedi and the elomin even as their bones turn to dust around him, and a familiar heat courses through him as he breathes in the terror and pain which hangs in the air all these years later.

The warmth of Trilla’s body against his back isn’t a surprise and he tips his head back with a sigh as she runs a hand down his chest. Her fingers find the wound just below his ribs and he gasps when she presses firmly, the phantom agony of the dead merging with the demanding ache of the present. 

Her other hand moves down, cupping him through his pants, and he yields gladly under her touch. “Trilla…”

She smiles against his neck. “I know the conversion process changes people,” she says, breath hot against his skin, “but I didn’t expect you to become quite so responsive to certain stimuli, Kestis.”

Cal exhales in a laugh but keeps his eyes closed as he says, “Guess the person in charge of breaking me in has a lot to answer for. Oh, wait…”

He feels a shift in the force before Trilla even moves, and he can’t keep from laughing again when she throws him forward. His hip collides with the altar at the center of the shrine before he’s knocked down by the force, his back flat against the stone slab, and the grip of her power sinks into him as he struggles.

Her approach to breaking him was thorough. It didn’t take her long to establish that beatings weren’t having the desired effect — all those years on Bracca apparently had some use after all — and she soon settled on psychometry as an alternative way in. 

Cal barely remembers the details of it, save for unpleasantly vivid dreams every few months, but he understands the concept well enough: flood him with echoes of torture and death until he breaks, and then use those same echoes to rebuild him in the mold of an inquisitor. 

Trilla was especially skilled at the latter, forcing him to find satisfaction and purpose in echoes which previously left him shaken and hollow, and by the time that satisfaction began to tip over into outright pleasure, neither of them were inclined to change course.

“I shaped you into an inquisitor,” Trilla says. She keeps him pinned against the altar as she moves in, nudging his legs apart and smoothing her hands down his thighs. “I don’t recall shaping you into such a slut.”

Cal smiles at that but he doesn’t move when the pressure of the force eases. “Guess you’re just that good.”

She lets out a little noise of distaste and Cal smiles again. Trilla steps back, unfastening her belt and working her pants down her legs, and Cal props himself up on his elbows to watch, eyebrows raised. “Here? Really?”

Too busy concentrating on slipping her boots off and then on again once she’s rid herself of her pants, Trilla doesn’t bother to look at him as she curls the force around his throat and gives a teasing squeeze. “Are you complaining?”

“Never,” Cal says instantly. 

He hears the crack of brittle bones beneath her boots when she steps forward again, climbing up to straddle Cal’s hips, and he looks up at her with a dazed smile as she rubs against him through his pants. 

“Take that look off your face,” Trilla scolds, even as she reaches down to work Cal’s dick free of his uniform. “This is in spite of your lack of discipline back there, not because of it. Do you understand?”

It isn’t said with her usual conviction and Cal does his best to keep his expression somber when he nods. “Yes, Trilla.”

She’s still wearing her underwear, the standard black cotton panties that come with the uniform, and Cal bites his lip when she tugs them to one side to let the head of his cock nudge at her entrance. There’s no disguising how hard he is, the combination of the echoes and her touch having their usual effect, but he bites his lip with a groan when he realises just how wet she is against him. “You’re-”

“Stop talking,” Trilla says but there’s enough warmth to it that Cal grins. “You can be insufferable sometimes, Kestis.”

“Only sometimes?” Cal teases and he laughs when Trilla rolls her eyes.

His disobedience has got him this far and as he settles his hands on her thighs, he opts to throw the last of his caution to the wind.

Trilla lets out a surprised moan when he pushes up off the altar, holding her body firmly against his own as he rolls on top of her. The stone surface is just wide enough to stop them tumbling off the edge — Cal doesn’t think she would have forgiven him for that — and Cal flashes her a quick grin as he braces his feet against the floor and pushes inside her in one smooth thrust.

“You-” Trilla starts but dissolves into a groan as he sinks in deep. 

She arches on the altar, cape strewn beneath them, and as Cal starts to move against her, he begins to understand how people could worship here for years. The echoes still crowd around him like ghosts, all desperate to impart their secrets, but Cal shuts them out, focusing only on the soft heat of Trilla’s body beneath him.

“Looks like I need to find a muzzle _and_ a leash once we get back,” Trilla says, chiding even as she hooks her legs around his hips. “You know I can’t let this stand.”

“I know,” Cal admits, but the threat does nothing to lessen the arousal coursing through him. He leans forward, meeting her eyes as he tries to work out whether she’ll permit a kiss, but he lets out a pleased noise when she threads her fingers through his hair and tugs him in to press his lips against hers.

Cal’s rhythm stutters as her tongue slides against his, pushy and demanding, and he gasps out a moan when Trilla’s teeth close sharply around his lower lip. She bites hard enough to draw blood, and Cal fucks into her with renewed vigor when she tugs his head back and licks the blood carefully from his lips.

His thumb finds the cut on her thigh, red and angry against her smooth skin, and he presses gently at the side of it, just hard enough to make Trilla tip her head back with a moan. 

“I can’t believe you let one of those idiots land a hit on you,” Cal taunts, shifting his grip back to her hips. “You’re slipping.”

Trilla’s fingers find the wound on his arm and he cries out when she digs her nails in. “And you’re sloppy,” she counters. “Evidently I’ve been going too easy on you in training.”

Shaking his head at the memory of just how hard she went last time they trained together, Cal moves his hands down to cup her ass and gives a firm squeeze as he picks up the pace. “Bring it on.”

No retort comes as her hips rise to meet his thrusts, and Cal watches Trilla’s lips part in a wordless cry when he moves his hand around to slide inside her panties. She’s soaked, and he feels her thighs shiver against him when he runs his thumb down between her folds and then up to press it gently against her clit.

Her pussy tightens around him, her nails digging into the bloodied scraps of parchment on the altar, and she lets her head rest back against the stone when she orders, breathless, “Faster…”

Cal complies with enthusiasm. The edge of her boots dig into his ass as her legs tighten around him, but he doesn’t slow his thrusts as he feels heat building inside him. The movements of his thumb over her clit get faster and messier, more focused on providing friction than technique, and he tries to hold off his own release as he watches for signs that Trilla is close.

She pushes forward into his touches, one hand clutching the edge of the altar, and her hips seem to move of their own accord as she gasps, “That’s it, right th-”

Cal can feel the second she comes. Her pussy tightens around him, her legs locked in place behind his back, and it’s all he can do to keep moving as her moan reverberates throughout the shrine. Her cheeks are flushed, her eyes closed and her lower lip caught between her teeth as she makes a failed attempt at staying quiet, and Cal decides to take one last risk as he teeters of the edge of his own orgasm.

Not quite able to reach her mouth with her head tipped back, he pushes deep inside her and leans over to press his lips to the column of her throat. Her pulse beats beneath his tongue, a bead of sweat pooling in the dip of her collarbone, and the contact pulls another sigh from her as Cal finally comes with a groan of his own.

The pull of the echoes fades away entirely, leaving nothing but him and Trilla alone together, and when Cal finally spirals back to reality, he’s pleased to find the ghosts are silent once again. 

Trilla lets out a pleased sound beneath him and Cal props himself up on his arms to look at her. There’s a fresh hickey on her neck, a faint bruise forming above the line of her collar, and Cal’s cheeks heat in a mixture of pride and embarrassment as he withdraws and helps her to her feet.

There’s going to be hell to pay later but for now he decides it’s worth it.

“At least this place wasn’t a total waste,” Trilla says, fixing her underwear back in place and leaning against a column to pull her pants back on. She frowns in annoyance at the slice across her thigh but soon straightens up, back to her usual composed self. “I’m not sure it was worth an excursion with a whole battalion but it was a pleasant enough distraction, I suppose.”

Cal grins. “‘A pleasant enough distraction’, huh? At least I know what to put on the mission report.”

Her gaze finds him in an instant, her eyes narrowing. “Don’t you dare.”

He laughs, holding his hands up in surrender. “Don’t worry, I’m not in the mood for that much pain.” 

The shrine feels peaceful now, the same soothing presence as a tomb, and Cal lingers amid the bones for a moment as he closes his eyes.

“Kestis,” Trilla warns.

She hesitates by the entrance but Cal hangs back, eager to share as much of this peace with her as he can. “Can you feel it? The stillness?”

She rolls her eyes. “I feel like I need a shower.”

“I mean it,” Cal presses. “It’s so quiet now. Like all the history here has been buried for good. This place used to be so important to the Jedi…”

“As were we.” 

Trilla’s voice sounds older, more distant somehow even as she takes a step forward to nudge the bones on the floor with her boot. “But it’s worthless now. Broken and buried and forgotten.”

“Not worthless,” Cal says, with a vehemence that takes him slightly by surprise. 

He walks over to her and links their gloved fingers together as he looks back at the defiled altar with a small smile. “Just put to better use.”


End file.
